Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by VictoriousHalfBlood
Summary: Katniss always wanted to compete in the Hunger Games. The thought of the honour and glory were just too enticing for her to resist. She was unable to refrain from dreaming about the glory of being a victor, from dreaming about the other tributes running like prey. How will she fare this time around in the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

My first story. I hope you enjoy :)

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She revelled in this. The thrill of the kill. The thrill of the chase. Hunting prey step by step, minute by minute. She heard a rustle to the left. Arrow notched; string taut. Shoot straight. The arrow pierced the eye. A clean shot. She smirked. _As if it could escape. It was too loud._

She glided towards the fallen deer, her feet moving over the bush without a sound. Silent. Like a ghost. A good specimen, she appraised. Knife in hand, she carved the finer meat of the carcass. _No point in giving the good meat away. We'll have a proper meal, not them. No work, no play. _ Packing the remains in a separate bag, and the strips in another, she slung the bags over her shoulder. Weapons in hand, she slipped through the undergrowth.

_Bags through the gap in the wire, weapons hidden. _She rolled through the gap and ambled towards the Hob. Exchange the carcass and other kill; receive money and vegetables. Buy bread. Turning sharply on the spot, the last of her purchases finished, she strolled back towards the Seam. Reaching her house, she flung the door open.

"I'm back," She called. Her sister came rushing towards her.

"Katniss!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Hunger Games. Games in which children are pitted against each other to survive in a fight to the death. In which 23 were killed. In which only one survives. Where the victor is praised and adored by the people of the Capitol for killing his fellow tributes. Tributes so young. The Games changed the victors forever, and will always do, as long as the Capitol sees it fit to turn children into savages in punishment for the uprising. Once you enter, and if you survive, the memory of the Games will manipulate and twist your mind, unless your mental willpower overcomes the power of the horrors you faced. You become nothing more than a shell of your former self. A shell longing for blood. A shell that is virtually owned by the Capitol. Every year, when these Games come around, these are the words you hear. No one in District 12 desires to compete or watch the Games; they, though it is not openly expressed, despise the Capitol for introducing these Games. One thing I do not understand; surely there is nothing better than competing in the one competition which gives you the most challenge, the one which puts your every skill and every ounce of knowledge to the test, where no one truly knows the outcome.

In the Games, you have no time for play. It's a fight to the death, one that no-one wants to lose, but 23 shall, and only the one worthy is crowned the victor. Every action is watched; those with the skill and nerve to win can, when they work these skills hand in hand with intelligence and cunning. Nothing is what you expect in the arena. Nor are your fellow tributes. These are games I plan to win. The honour and glory of the kill, of the victory, will be mine. These Games won't change me like they do many others, I know. Instead, I know that they will empower me, and show that people have truly underestimated me and my worth. I have the skill. I have the intelligence. I will be the victor. Otherwise I will be dishonoured; I won't be able to claim the glory, the honour that is rightfully mine. Even in death, I will be mocked. Mocked, not revered. I have been waiting for my chance to compete since I first experienced the brutality and elegance of the Games. I will not be beaten. I will not lose. For in these Games, I shall be the victor.

These are my Games.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The reaping. A day when two tributes are chosen. Just two. Two children, one boy and one girl, are reaped from the district to bring honour for their district in a competition geared for murder. Some are trained since birth for this glory, chosen at their peak to compete. This day is filled with dread. Horror. Tears. For those ready for this day, triumph.

All my life all I've known is the Hunger Games. The cries of families when their child tribute finally dies, escaping the torture everyone describes with vivid imagination. Since I was a child, I watched the annual Hunger Games with fascination and avid attention. Before he died, my father bequeathed to me a bow. Shoot straight, he said. In the forest, my talent became known. A straight, clean kill every time. No-one could match me, at least with the bow. Yet, my soul hungered for more. A bow wasn't enough. Living in fear without my bow was alien emotion, one I could only combat with more. More knowledge. More weapons to wield. No-one knew of my desire. My desire for fame, glory and honour. My desire to compete in the only chance I would get. The Hunger Games.

So I trained. I carved makeshift weapons out of wood, the design similar from those I could faintly remember from the first Hunger Games I was permitted to watch. The Hunger Games that not one since could match. All the tributes had skill. All had a sliver of intelligence and cunning. Alliances and betrayals were rife; two tributes would form an alliance and then betray each other hours later. The weapons were simple and effective. No fancy designs or technology like now. Pure, simplistic instruments of terror and pain. These were weapons I adored, ones that got the job done. These were the ones I copied to the best of my ability, and ones I learned to fight with. It took me a long time to become comfortable with these new, unfamiliar weapons; their disposition was different to what I was familiar with. But, I was determined to master them.

And so as the years passed, I trained privately, preparing for the day when I would volunteer for the honour I so dearly wished for. Hunting became easier; my family would always have the finer meat. My original desire was to compete at my peak; when I turned eighteen and was in my last year of eligibility. Yet all this changed at the reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Though it differentiated from my plan, I couldn't let her die could I?

The entirety of those eligible for the Hunger Games had once more been sectioned and roped off into our areas for the reaping. Being one of the elder years, I was stationed further towards the stage. Primrose was further to the back, this being her first year of her reaping, whilst Mother was off to the side, worrying about my sister. Her name had only been entered once, mine five. We'd refused every offer for tesserae. I was too proud to accept needing to rely on the Capitol. Effie Trinket, the escort for the district, was speaking into the microphone, speaking about the honour of being chosen. I knew the speech off by heart, ever since I first hear it at the 60th Hunger Games, where it captured my attention and subsequent fascination. Yet, I was pulled back to the district at the sound of the female tribute being announced. Primrose Everdeen. My sister. My weak, twelve-year old sister, who cried at the sight of an individual with a twisted ankle. She would die within the first day; she'd never make it past the plates, never mind the blood bath. I couldn't let her compete.

"I volunteer!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I was hustled onto the stage. My mother and Primrose were crying, weak, so weak. This was my glory, not theirs. No tears should have been shed. I sensed the male tribute was on the stage by me. Peeta Mellark, the baker's son. The boy who cried at getting the lowest mark in the class on the test he thought he would surely win. The boy, who thought he could get any girl, yet had neither the courage nor respect. Oh, how I am going to enjoy killing him, slowly, painfully. Just what he'd deserve. Maybe I'll taunt him to his last moment; give him that glimmer of hope, that he would live, and then cut him down as he runs. I smirked, he has no idea.

After pointless farewells; for I already knew I was coming back, as much as I desire to stay in the Hunger Games, it'll be over so quickly and I'll be the victor, returning to the home district; I stepped up onto the train and immediately abandoned my fellow passengers, opting for the seclusion of my cabin. My only regret was they took away my knives as I came on board the train. The looks of surprise, apprehension and weakness were evident on their faces, even the drunk mentor's. They should have known better, I was never without my beloved knives, ever. They'd served me faithfully in the past, those knives. Now in the space of days I would have to become used to weapons with new and completely different temperaments than those hidden in a log in the woods. Once my time to train finishes, I'll be launched into the arena, into a fight for my survival.

As the day went by, more tributes arrived. A small girl from 11, a young boy from 10; I classed neither as threats, though with how the girl came across, she has the cunning for sure. From 7 a muscular male; once again, not a threat, lumberjack maybe, but definitely not a threat; I am certain he has no knowledge of survival, he tried to fight with the boy from 9 in hand to hand combat, yet he lost rather spectacularly, and was humiliated by his escort and mentor. The girl from 5, I immediately classed a threat. I had seen a flash of her reaping as she climbed on board; I believe I was the only one to have seen the malicious smirk on her face. There was something about her that screamed danger concealed, no ally of hers would survive. Yet, I could not dwell on the threat she posed for long, as we drew up to the career districts. 4, 2 and 1. From 4, only the girl looked slightly like she may be useful, she wielded her knife fairly well in the training cart before we arrived at 2. She'd headed straight there, so she must be looking to join the alliance. Her social skills would be lacking however, she became a recluse as soon as 2 climbed on board. The boy looked too weak, too scared, too vulnerable to survive more than ten minutes into the Games. He would have no chance of being in the alliance, no career would accept him. The tributes from 3 knew how to work electronics; all from 3 were trained in engineering and electronics from an early age; yet the girl looked as if she may be able to wield weapons better than the boy.

My attention peaked when we stopped at 2. Both from the district had volunteered, the only volunteers beside myself. The girl, Clove, was small, yet had a sadistic smirk on her face. The boy, Cato, was tall and muscular, and was grinning openly. Threats. The only thing they could be classified by. There was no way someone would survive if they angered them. Though, it might be fun to try. An alliance with them would ensure a higher rate of survival, and more weapons to play with, yet fewer tributes to kill. Yet, I may have a chance to branch off and kill some tributes before re-joining the Alliance. All this was thought and calculated in a couple of seconds, as my mouth turned into a malicious smirk and I felt Mellark shudder beside me. Mellark would be mine to kill, I was certain about that. And in the end, Cato and Clove, my two biggest threats, would also die by my hand and my hand alone. There was no way I would let another kill the two that had the most potential to kill me. My eyes caught Clove's as 2 caught up on the reapings. Hers narrowed, her hands clenching round the knife in her hand. I shrugged and turned away, dismissing her. Behind me I heard 2 speak in furious whispers. They must have seen my reaping then, as Cato immediately started to call 12 this year a potential enemy. Not once did they talk about an alliance with us. That, eventually, would be their downfall. The longer they leave approaching me, the less 'loyalty' I will hold towards them. If they leave it too late, I'll kill them the first chance I get, instead of the original plan where they die last, slowly and painfully.

Finally, District 1 arrived. These two would be so easy to underestimate. Mellark, at the sight of the girl, sighed dreamily. Loverboy eh? This would make for interesting entertainment. Both may have what could be classed as looks, but they were from a career district. Neither were volunteers, but I was certain they both knew how to handle a weapon or two, and that immediately made them threats. Especially since 1 headed straight towards 2. Alliance with 1 and 2? May work out, though I would most likely kill 1 quickly, unless they prove useful. I would just have to wait and determine their strengths.

The drunk attempted to talk to me about tactics; I presumed he had already spoken to Mellark about them; he had come out of Mellark's cabin looking like the cat that got the cream, he surely has to have concocted a plan involving me and District 12's Loverboy. It was unfortunate that he was the only mentor for 12; he had no chance of getting me to go along with these tactics. I make my own way; I bring honour to myself and only myself. Finally, after his excessive talk had gone on for too long and my restraint broke, I flung the nearest knife at his head; it was only due to reflex he got out of the way – he had been the winner of the 2nd Quarter Quell due to his cunning and reflexes. The whole carriage had gone silent, until Clove whistled. The shot had been accurate. Then chaos started; I smirked, all this because of one knife. Think what could happen with poison darts, or with my precious bow and arrows. I retreated to the training cart, sensing 2 following me.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"So, you volunteered, 12. Why would you, considering none of your District tributes ever come out alive?" I mentally laughed. Oh, how ignorant. How blissfully ignorant they were, caught in the beliefs of 12 being weak. Mellark may be, but I certainly am not. I came here to win, and win I shall. "2… don't ever presume to know me. I'm not weak. I plan to win."

I turned from him and headed to the archery station. I sensed rather than saw the male tribute weigh his options of spears, choose then throw the middleweight one directly at the target at the far end of the cart. Trying to make me cower from him? Really now, like he had any clue on how to do what I just did. Use hearing rather than seeing to survive. Basic survival skills; 2 never have any; they always rely on the Cornucopia for survival. As a response to his silent challenge, I notched the arrow. My breaths were timed to the rhythm of my heart. Shoot straight. Releasing the arrow, it shot straight towards the bulls' eye. Dead centre . As if I could get anything else. I was too good. Cato let out a low whistle. I turned sharply, seeing both Districts 2 and 1 standing by the station. The look on the female 1's face was priceless. Glimmer, I recall her name being. She stormed over and grabbed another bow. I raised an eyebrow; so she could handle a bow decently; her arrow had hit the outer ring of the bulls' eye. Not quite centre, nor a clean shot, but it was good enough. For a novice, my mind scoffed. In response, I notched another arrow. Careful not to let it pierce my previous arrow and looking in the direction of the careers, I let loose; it brushed against the first arrow, landing directly to the right of it.

Before Glimmer had a chance to retaliate, I replaced my bow. "Keep an eye out, don't think you would want to be shot, would you?" I chucked low as I whispered this. Leaving the careers behind, I returned to my cabin. Solitude was my friend, for only he understood truly the extent of my plans. Mass silence in the arena. These now had to be modified however; I was not the only one skilled with the bow in these Games, much to my displeasure. How humiliating would it be if she got to the weapon before me? I was determined to reach it first. No matter who got in my way, the bow would be mine. It was the one thing that influenced my position with the careers. The one thing that I could wield to successfully force them into following my lead.

I knew I had caught the attention of the careers. Whether they were impressed or threatened, I was yet to know.

That evening we arrived at the Capitol. Not speaking nor acknowledging those around me as the train slowed, I worked on slowing my breath. I was finally here. Finally on my journey to the Arena.

So many people were surrounding us as we stepped off the train. Too many people. Unknown faces. All wanting to get in with the spirit of the Games, all wishing for the honour of meeting a potential victor. Plastering a fake smile on my face; for really, what did these people know about whom I, District 12's female tribute, really was, the real value of my life – the other tributes lives were worthless in my own opinion; I took a bow amidst the standing ovation before I stepped down. The crowds took to me very quickly, which was fortunate indeed. If these people despised me like I did them, I had no chance of survival if I received too bad a wound. Anyway, this was the city every one talked of. The city where lives were made and destroyed. The city that I would enthral, to ensure my life.

We were ushered into a large building opposite to the station. This was where we would be prepared for the opening ceremony. Hopefully we actually had competent stylists this year. Once we reached the seclusion of our floor, I escaped into my room. Launching myself onto the bed, turning on music, I smirked up at the ceiling. Oh, how much fun I was going to have here. No one really had any idea of what was going to happen. And I was going to keep it that way, until the moment came where I would start more obvious power plays. The looks of surprise on my preys' faces would be so delicious, so tantalising, too much to resist. The next day would be the official start of the clamour for sponsors. And, so much to the unknown despair of the other tributes, they're going to be clamouring for me. I would ensure that.

My seclusion was disturbed as Haymitch, the drunk, knocked on the door. "Darling, we have to talk to you. It's never too early for tactics when faced with the horror of these Games." I sneered. Why would I willingly want to talk to them? Neither of them had a sliver of intelligence, nor ounce of cunning; except the mentor, though that surely must have deteriorated over the years; none of them were really worth my time. Yet, my refusal to talk to my mentor would be seen as an act of weakness, not wanting to co-operate with the Capitol to give them a good show in the Games. It would be seen as an act of refusal to go into the arena, punishable by death. Not something I wanted to do nor have happen to me, especially since I desired to actually arrive in the arena and compete, pitting my skills against those of the careers. Grudgingly I opened the door, where Haymitch grabbed my arm to drag me to the table with Mellark, Effie and two whom I presumed were our stylists. "Get off me, drunk. Have I given you permission to touch me?" I barked. He visibly flinched. Good, it scared him. Just as I intended it to.

"Well, don't you wish to know the early stages of our tactics?" I rolled my eyes. "Not really. I'll make my own way in the Games, without any stupid tactics." Not expecting a reply, I started to walk away. "Sorry darling, you have no choice. I can hold you in contempt." I stopped abruptly. Now that was just low. Bringing out the contempt card this early? Doesn't even give them a chance to test my restraint, nor my personality, both of which could ruin these 'tactics' of theirs. Probably playing favourites in favour of Mellark. And so their ignorance and favouritism only served to infuriate me even more. I had no choice but to go along with their plans. Yet… I could just pretend to be ignorant myself of any newly developed tactics, once I arrived in the arena. They would have no control over me there. "So, what are these oh so wonderful tactics then?" I think only the male stylist noted the sarcasm. "For now, you're forbidden to go near your strengths in the training field when you arrive in the centre two days from now. The rest will be revealed the day of the interviews."

That. Was. It? How on earth did that require me emerging from my room? I scoffed. "That's it?" They nodded. I sneered at them. Idiots, the lot of them, though the male stylist interested me. I turned on my heel and stormed into my room. So, I was forbidden to reveal any of my strengths. I could play that. No one else knew my strengths, only I did. Haymitch was counting on us being truthful and loyal, so I combat that through lies.

Lies would be my ally within these Games.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Come on, dearie. We're here to make you look extravagant, and we can do nothing with that messy look you have going on, with your tousled, District 12 Seam look; right now you look totally unappealing." Do they really think I care about how they think I look? I'm here to win the Games, not become a fashion icon. "…and we're going to give you that special, no-one can top it look…" Goodness, did they never stop that incessant chatter of theirs? I pity those who have to live with this scum in the nearby vicinity day in, day out. "Just get on with the official preparation then. You're here to make me, and I quote, 'extravagant'; nothing progresses if it's left to stagnate in favour of other ideals, idiots." The looks of surprise on their faces was evident, clearly they did not expect a tribute with backbone who had no care about what had happened or what was going to happen in their worthless lives. I scoffed. They probably had thought I would be a normal, plebeian tribute, who would have been comforted by their 'normalcy' before arriving in the arena. Yet, all this team did was serving to infuriate me. Oh, how I wish they were fellow tributes in these Games. I would have taken so much pleasure in hunting them down; knowing their every attempt of survival would be futile, that in the end they would have suffered greatly.

As afternoon approached, I was released from the vicinity of that idiotic prep-team, and entered into the hands of my stylist, Cinna, the male from last night. He smiled as I arrived, and gestured for me to lie down before he started. "So, Katniss, I take it you're prepared for your entry into the arena?" Supressing my instincts to take out a possible information leak, I sneered at him. "What makes you say I am ready? You have no knowledge of me, or my past." He chuckled. "You strike me as someone who will do anything and everything for glory, even murder. I believe you are ready, so we'll be looking towards victory. You'll be similar to Peeta, yet vastly different. Beautiful, a warrior, unique, strong, victorious. Blue, black, purple and crimson. Dark and elegant. The Girl on Fire." I raised an eyebrow; so he was actually competent. Maybe he'd give us a good costume this year.

Fire licked at the end of the braid, and curled around my back. The flames were different; they had a life of their own; blue, black, purple and crimson tongues of fire. Teamed with the dark blues and purples hidden within the blackness of the costume, I saw the truth in the stylist's statement; I was the Girl on Fire, ready to consume those who stood in my way.

The peacekeepers stationed outside my rooms led Cinna and myself down towards the bottom of the Remake Centre; this was where we entered to win the hearts of the Capitol. The other tributes were already filling the stables, whispering to their mentors about how they were to enthral those watching. Yet, once we entered the whispers ceased; perhaps because for one time we weren't dressed as coal miners but rather the coal, ready to be lit alight.

Mellark arrived seconds later, dressed in nearly the exact same outfit, though whereas I had darkness floating around me, he was in loose terms the epitome of light, with warm reds and yellows snaking through the leather of his costume. The look on his face, however, was weakness. Pure weakness. So little Loverboy was scared about being set of fire? How much fun I could have with that information. My dark thoughts were interrupted when Cinna gestured for me to climb into the chariot, led by the coal black horses. Following his instructions, I stepped onto the ledge, with Mellark hunched beside me. "Stand straight you fool. How will I be adored when I have a weak willed _boy_ accompanying me? And stop fidgeting; I grow impatient of your constant moving." He flinched. "And I repeat; you're weak, and unworthy to be standing here, near those who actually wish to compete in a way which honours them, no matter whether they become the victor or die." This time he shuddered and inched towards the side of the chariot. I smirked, I will enjoy his death. During our little conversation, the other districts had set off in their own chariots.

Cinna flitted up to us, and ignited my costume whilst his fellow stylist did the same to Mellark. I could feel the sensation of the flames curling their way up my back, weaving through my braid and illuminating my face, bringing out the darkness I emitted.

"Hold hands." I turned to see Cinna crouching by my side. "Hold hands. The crowds will love you even more." I gave the slightest shake of my head, watching as the flames circling my hair flicked towards Mellark. "No. I refuse to be seen as someone who cares for an idiotic boy who cries at the slightest touch. I refuse to be seen caring for him, when he will be one of the ones to die." Cinna shook his head. "Just play it cool and win over those crowds then. Don't start a fight just yet, and remember. Shine. Make them adore you. Be unforgettable" I nodded abruptly, as the chariot started rolling and District 12 was announced. The stylist slipped down from the ledge before he was trapped in the moving cart. The music blasted into my ears as we rolled through the doors to the city; the whole city was suddenly quiet, no one chanting the name of any districts or tributes. One lone voice shouted "District 12" and the streets erupted with shouts of our names; though noticeably mine was chanted more and more frequently as I twirled in the chariot, sending the dark flames swirling around me, rising towards the roof.

The overhead screens were focussed solely on our faces, my smirk filling the screen as I played the crowds, in contrast to Mellark's pettiness and weakness, blushing as he gave a slight wave. A rose was thrown in my general direction and so I caught it in one hand, placing it in the centre of the band running across my skull, blazing with the purple fire. Some tendrils of fire wormed their way around the rose, and for the first time in the presence of the crowds I let a full blown smile spread across my face instead of my usual smirk, as I basked in the adoration and atmosphere of the crowds.

No one here would forget my name after tonight. No matter the outcome of the Games, they will always remember me. Remember my face, my name, my hunger for honour and praise and glory. My hunger for the Hunger Games. Me. Katniss. The Girl on Fire. The girl who ignited the Games in a way never seen before. I gave one last twirl as the chariot came to a shuddering halt, joining those of the other districts, standing before the mansion of the President of the Capitol and of Panem. President Snow. I smirked as the anthem played. Still the attention had not faded from the beauty of the flames; my own were blazing in a furious combination of blacks and blues, crimsons and purples. To the roar of the crowds, in the aftermath of the silence caused by the speech spoken by the President welcoming us to the Games, the chariots gave a jolt as they moved off in the direction of the Training Centre. I looked behind as my chariot moved on, for once giving a soft smile as I heard the cheers of the crowd. It quickly faded into a smirk; if this was their reaction now to the Girl on Fire, how would they feel when I set alight the arena in a blaze of destruction and death, in a quest for victory, survival and most importantly the glory and honour offered.

We dismounted from the chariot as the doors closed, sending the floor into darkness until candles flickered and started to burn, casting tendrils of light dancing across the room. Mellark hesitated beside me. "They're all angry at us. We stole their glory tonight. Please, don't enrage them further Katniss." I turned. "And why don't you shut up Loverboy? You really do believe I care about your opinion. Newsflash: Leave. Me. Alone. And whilst you're at it, why don't you go and cower in the corner over there like a good little puppy dog, and leave the socializing and winning to me." Mellark was so weak, it was pathetic. Behind me, District 2 started clapping. I smirked. Leaving Mellark by the chariot, I strolled over to the careers. "Well 12, you sure know how to give a 5 star performance."

I gave a mocking bow. "Why, thank you Clove. I'm sure the real performance starts in the arena though, don't you? For that's where dreams are conjured, fought for and made or lost, don't you agree?" We locked eyes; both mouths turning up into a smirk. The other careers looked on, watching the outcome of the subtle power play. "Well, then, Katniss, why don't you join us for training tomorrow. We'll see what you are made of then." Clove looked towards Cato for confirmation. So, it seemed he was the default leader of this year of careers; he would have to obviously be the strongest, fastest, smartest and most malicious to be leader, otherwise they would not look up to him automatically for each power play and statement they make. Now I knew the fellow tribute I would have to combat for leadership and default allegiance of the careers; Cato Hadley.

I looked on as the careers, specifically Clove and Cato, were dragged away by their mentors, speaking in furious whispers with the occasional glance back. I smirked. The mentors had no desire for me to be acknowledged, it seemed. Too bad the careers have interested me, especially District 2. They knew power plays. And they surely knew weaponry. Oh, how much fun I would have fighting alongside them; for it seemed Clove shared my spirit for battle. But, I would have to wait for training to know my position. I vaguely registered the drunk berating me for 'fraternising with the enemy'. I sneered. "And your opinion matters to me? I shall work with who I myself desire to work with. I will win these Games on my own terms, with my own knowledge and alliances. So, drunk. Shut it, and run away to your loyal little puppy dog." I stalked off towards the elevators, slipping in before it was sealed off. Leaning back against the wall, I let my eyes close, letting the silence wash over me. There was no way I'd be co-operating with the drunk and Mellark. My stylist had already realized that; he knew I had no care for them, that they were worthless to me, mixed in with the scum I despised. It was represented in my costume he had designed, where the darkness radiated through the night.

I pushed off the wall as the elevator came to floor 12, and strolled forward into my rooms. The following day would be interesting. That, I would ensure.

* * *

The morning light trailed through the closed curtains, bouncing off the walls. Training day number 1. So this day I would make my alliance with the careers. And ignore the pathetic 'advice' given to me by the rest of my entourage. For really, if the skills you have, give you a higher chance of survival and prey if seen by others, why supress them? It was idiotic advice, and was sure to get Mellark killed. Though, I would ensure that his death was by my hand. He deserved nothing less than the death I would give him, slowly destroying every glimmer of hope of survival he could see, watching as he ran trying to hide, hunting him down step by step.

I glided through the doors to the dining room inside the floor. No one was awake; how easy would it be to kill them all now. Yet, that would mean no fun for me. Preparing a slight meal, I sat at the table waiting for the idiots to wake. Legs up, hands behind my neck, a couple of knives thrown at the sideboard. Almost an hour passed before any noise could be heard, disturbing the silence I had come to revere. It was akin to what I imagined the silence to be when all others were dead in the midst of the arena. Finally someone emerged through the doors. Mellark. It had been over an hour since I awoke, and more than 50 opportunities had passed where I could have killed each of them in turn. How I despised the rule for morning training; no tribute was allowed to emerge from their floor without the company of their fellow District tribute and entourage before the training session in the morning; a rule implemented to hinder the tributes who desired to kill their opposition before the official start to the Games within the arena. "Puppy dog, hurry yourself up. We now have officially less than an hour till the start of training, and I wish to meet with the tributes before that. Or do you rather they all viewed you as lacking neither the initiative nor the attitude required to survive?" He flinched. I heard the whispered sorry as I stalked back into my rooms. How pathetic.

The time finally came for training. I flew down the stairs, a maniacal grin spreading across my face. 10 minutes before the due time I arrived in the training suite. The weapons were so enticing, yet we were all forbidden from handling anything before training started. Instead I ignored District 12 as they futilely attempted to catch my attention, and headed towards 2. "Well, well, well. Female 12 has decided to stray into the nearby vicinity. How sweet." Enobaria. One of the mentors from 2; famous for volunteering for the 62nd Hunger Games as soon as she was eligible to compete, and for ripping out another tribute's throat with her teeth. One of the few tributes that were actually worthy of being remembered; her skill and brutality were qualities I admired. "Enobaria. I'm quite sure your female tribute, and therefore your male also, has invited myself to join the other inevitably more skilled tributes in training today. Maybe we could spar, with no limit on weapons, one day? I would love to learn from a victor who has no qualms about doing what must be done to win." She raised an eyebrow, baring her teeth. "A 12 with a backbone. Cato; Clove. You must let her train with you. I looked forward to hearing how you fare, 12." I smirked. Was this approval from one of my more revered victors?

My eyes locked with Clove's; she gestured towards the circle of tributes, each of whom were watching our little conversation avidly, Mellark frowning. We ambled slowly towards the competition, each scouting out or reaffirming potential threats or allies. The tributes from 11 looked as if together, in the right situation they could win if my assumptions were correct, with the girl's possible cunning and the boy's strength. Once more, the girl from 5, Sorcha, was classified as a threat; "Female 5, watch out," and I received a nod in reply. Clove must have seen the same danger she emitted as I had. "District 3, potential threat or ally. Female 4, weaponry, knives; not social." Once more I relayed information to Clove, and received a nod of affirmation in reply.

We took our places within the circle of tributes, Clove on my immediate right and Marvel on the left. Each tribute's training outfit was designed in accordance to their district and personality by their stylist; my own was eerily similar to the costume from the opening ceremony, purples, blues, blacks and crimsons flickering through the leather. Atala started to speak.

"Welcome to the training centre, tributes of the 74th annual Hunger Games."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"You are all here because each of you was found worthy enough to receive the honour of representing your district in these Games. Each and every one of you has a chance to taste the glory of victory. You each have your various skill sets; bravery, cunning, determination. Yet all of you must know that not one station here is less important than another. Each station brings a different skill available to be added to your repertoire of knowledge; each one brings a higher chance of survival. Ignore nothing, embrace everything." I smirked. She was speaking of the trivia stations; those that no one attended, all instead choosing to participate at the weaponry stations, hoping to intimidate others into alliances. Yet, she was right; no true victor would ignore learning the ways of survival in favour for relying solely on the use of weaponry. They would link together knowledge of natural survival with the ability of how to handle weapons, creating a force so strong fellow tributes would cower before it, submitting. I myself already had amassed the knowledge of survival during the years since my father's death. I would utilise this knowledge to the best of my ability, to ensure my victory, my inevitable victory.

I headed towards the weaponry station with the careers, much to my displeasure. I would have rather we had gone to the agility station first; for if you are unable to run you are unable to fight, plus it would have given us a chance to scout the tributes handling of the weapons without notice. However, I stayed with the careers, unwilling to let them train and amass knowledge I would otherwise not know they gained. Locking eyes with Cato, he mocked bowed my entry through to the station. So, he viewed me as a threat to his leadership. This I could not pass up. In answer I curtsied and waltzed beneath his arm; as I did so, I picked up the nearest weapon. The knives. A weapon I could handle with ease, though not with superiority. I leaned against the frame of the station, willing the careers to choose their weapons; I noticed Clove glaring at me, her weapon of choice must be the knives. In answer I threw them, one by one with deadly accuracy at a single target; each knife pierced the handle of the one preceding it. I sent a smirk to Clove, daring her to challenge my skill, as she made to fight. Coward. She'd backed off; following her gaze I could see a Peacekeeper watching us. I raised an eyebrow. They didn't trust us, and why should they? Most careers would kill off their opponents' right here, before even entering the Games.

The careers forced myself to spend almost all of morning training at the weapons station; Clove, as I suspected, was deadly with the knives, having pinpoint accuracy 100 metres away, splitting the handle in the bulls eye each time. Marvel was skilled with the spear; Cato could handle a sword, no matter its weight, length or size, with intimidating skill, hacking off each limb off the dummies. I could see the younger, weaker tributes shuddering as they watched. I smirked. Nice to see the tributes fear us. It would lead to more exciting hunts for prey, waiting and following as they ran around, blinded and scared, fearful for their lives. They would beg and plead, and yet I would taunt them, give them that glimpse of survival before I crushed it before their eyes. My smirk turned into a malicious smile. Oh, how wonderful their deaths would be. Finally we had Glimmer. Much to my displeasure, she was not a novice with the bow, having handled and shot with the bow with fair decency, yet she was not as skilled as I was. It, the bow, seemed to be her forte; none of the weapons available matched her as did the bow, their temperaments clashed frequently causing her to misplace her aim. Every single one of them took great, obvious pleasure in handling the weapons; not one of them cowered away when another got in a good shot. These careers were skilled and bloodthirsty; however, it was still unknown whether any of them had intelligence and cunning, knowledge of survival to match it with.

Their familiarity with each other was strange. None of the districts knew each other, nor their strengths, yet, this set of careers was well versed in different areas of weaponry, complimenting each other well. As we headed to lunch, I glanced over at Marvel. A smirk was spreading on his face as he laughed at a comment Cato had made demeaning the tributes from the poorer districts. If I had any care for my district, I would have lashed out at him for the comment. Like Mellark. "You think you're so great, 2, well at least my district has a sense of community and propriety. None of us are coldblooded murderers. What can you say for your district?" I turned away, chuckling softly. None are coldblooded murderers? He, a townsman, has no clue to the hardships many of us from the Seam face daily. Most families in the Seam never know when their next meal will be, whether they'll be able to send their children to the school, or whether they will survive another day. Many I suspect would kill for their families without a care in the world, whether that would be animals as I did, or their fellow humans. "Mellark, as much as I despise having to be paired as your district tribute, I will offer you a piece of advice. Shut. The. Hell. Up. And do not embarrass me or the district with your words. Do you realise the damage you're doing to the image of the district?" He flinched. Dismissing him, I turned away in disgust. How weak, how pathetic was he? He flinches at every word I give; he has no respect whatsoever neither for courage nor image, he does not understand what it takes to strive for what you desire. My whole life I've longed to compete in these Games; to put my skills against my fellows who have also trained for it, and to come out on top, showing my skills to be superior, and that I am the only one worthy for the honour and glory that comes with the victory. And Mellark the puppy dog is slowly, oh so slowly, destroying my image, my credibility, my worthiness to compete. Oh, how his death is longed for. He does not deserve to live after what he has done and is doing.

We gathered around the largest table; whilst the weaker tributes were still trembling at the thought of the arena, we were pushing each other around. Cato gave an extra shove, causing Marvel to fall back in mock horror. I chuckled darkly, this display of violence was quite refreshing for it was completed not in detest but in harmony. How interesting it'll be to see each of these tributes turn on each other when there is no one left to hunt. I felt a tug on the edge of my sleeve; I turned, aware that the careers had suddenly gone quiet. It was Female 11, the weak girl who seemed as if she may possess some cunning and silence, yet not enough to truly become a threat. I sneered. "And why does a tribute choose to deign themselves with my presence?" Unlike Mellark, she still stood straight at the sound of my voice. "I was wondering whether I could sit with you and your friends. Thresh has decided that I am unworthy of his company, even if I can hit the target and handle the weapons better than him. I believe his exact words were you'll be dead within the first minute upon entering the arena Rue, get lost." This was new. The weaker tributes, if they survive the bloodbath, usually ally themselves alongside their district, having a deeper bond of trust between the district partners than allies from enemy districts. Cato deemed himself responsible to answer her, "Never would we choose to lower ourselves to accompany weak filth such as yourself. The answer is no." I shot a look at Cato; leaning across to whisper at him "She has more skill with the slingshot, and would be useful as a spy. Keep her alive and be friendly. She's our route to tracking the other tributes whom we are not hunting." Turning to Rue, I replied in a fake voice that we would see on results of the day's training. She nodded and turned away, missing my smirk as I snickered at her back. "Katniss; oh do please carry on toying with her. It's so amusing to watch." Clove sneered at Rue. "She is weak, and so easy to manipulate, its classic." I locked eyes with Female 2. "Why thank you Clove. Glad to know my demeanour is appealing." We snickered. No one truly understood how fun it was to perform power plays upon unsuspecting victims, then watch as they, as it is too late, find out your constant manipulations. It had always seemed as if I was the only one to enjoy these particular forms of power plays, and yet now I have found another in the form of one of my more skilled opponents. This would be amusing once it boiled down to a few. Cato frowned; I believe it was due to the fact I got on so well with Clove. He had already assumed the unofficial title of leader; he surely expected to be the best, the faster, the strongest, the most charismatic. And I must be contesting the latter, with how easily I have got along with his district partner. This was good. Ever since I knew that I would participate in the Hunger Games, I knew I would be a contestant, not just participant, and would rival the skill that the leader possessed, and challenge his ruling; his annoyance meant he was already feeling challenged.

The afternoon training session started the moment lunch ended. Without waiting for the careers, I strolled straight towards the agility station. The whispers of the careers signalled they were following me. Pushing Mellark to the ground, I took my place at the front of the queue where I was joined by Cato. "12, why are you here? The agility station does nothing." "Aside from giving you more of an advantage in a fight or chase, when you can dodge incoming obstacles while your opponent is stuck. In a matter of life or death, agility gives you a higher chance of survival, especially when faced with the prospect of surviving with no weapons. Would you rather you died and brought dishonour to yourself, all due to the lack of knowledge you had on the topic of survival?" Shaking my head, I headed up to the start of the Gauntlet. The assistant looked surprised when I barked for him to start my time; not waiting I jumped up to the first platform, leading onwards to the next. A trainer attempted to swing the pad at me, yet his aim was so clumsy, it was easily avoidable. This pattern kept repeating; I kept making my way through the platforms avoiding the pads; then suddenly I'd reached the final platform. One minute 3. Two seconds behind the fastest time. That was not acceptable. Being victor means being the best; coming second only served to anger myself, especially since the fastest time currently was set by the drunk. Keeping my annoyance hidden, I let no show of my emotions on my face; yet somehow, Cato whispered "You may have come second, but remember. He's not in these Games. You are. Act like it, or you'll be killed personally by myself."

And so this was why the careers had him as the default leader. He may seem gentle, but in the next moment you register he's already planning your death. We're alike in that sense; we both wish to be the best. The victor; we both know that to reach our desires we must do whatever we must. I slipped through the mass of tributes choosing to take their chance at the Gauntlet. As if they could beat my time. If the drunk had the fastest time, beating the average by 40 seconds, he was, as much as I hate to admit it, very good. Appearing behind the careers, I heard them discussing my attitude towards the training. "She's too blaze about the horror of fighting. She wants this, just the same as we do. Why can you not see that she's ready to fight us, and come out on top?" "Clove. Shut up. She's from District 12. No tribute from there survives long, no matter how good they seem. And Katniss is no different. You realize that you're defending a girl whom will be killed within the first day, more than likely inside the bloodbath. 12 have no way to survive, especially when in the arena." So Cato has no wish to recognise my talent? When we arrive in the arena, oh how I would prove him wrong. The conversation grew in heated whispers until I finally found them too tiring; catching Clove's eye I signalled to her to cut the conversation off. "Cato. Marvel. Glimmer. I know how vehemently you are against 12 having any skill, yet do you realize that the very object of our conversation is listening to us?" I smirked.

"Sorry careers. Suppose I'm better than you wish me to be." I snickered. How idiotic were they? This conversation had been continuing for over half an hour, and had very nearly attracted a crowd. None of these careers had any sense of awareness when it came to interactions within their cliché; the weakest tribute with the least skill in handling weaponry could attempt to blindly swing a sword in front of their eyes, and yet not be seen. This was one skill they lacked, and one that I would exploit to the greatest affect; it would eventually lead to their downfall. Turning my back, I walked towards the doors. The careers, with the exception of Clove, had no wish for me to be with them in the Alliance; how annoyed they would be when they find out that I, in the end, was their biggest threat. And by then they would be dead. Though, they were my best shot at gaining weapons, and make survival easier; I could focus more on the actual killing and torture of the other tributes. I smirked.

They were still going to die.


	8. Chapter 8

A bit late, but here is the next chapter :) And thank-you to all those who have reviewed so far, though it's not many, it is nice to know people are liking this story. Updates will be a bit slower from now on, but for now, I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 8

I honestly do not believe that the Careers are all they are hyped up to be. Not one of them are true victors. Do they not realize that brute force is useful, yet that is nothing without manipulations, cunning and intelligence? Careers are raised with one thought in mind; that if they are chosen for their district to compete they compete to win, and win they must. Many Careers win due only to luck and the incompetence of the many other tributes; aside from a couple there are not many that deserve the respect or praise that comes with being named victors. Fighting in the arena is a fight for survival, as much as I look forward to competing; it isn't a visit to the playground. It isn't a fight for the weak willed, as many tributes are these days the fools, it is a fight to the death and you cannot think as you would in a childish fight, you have to think like a snake, ready to kill at any moment. Only those who are strong enough, those who know how to work various skills together to survive and manipulate the competition and not rely only on brute force, are the only tributes worthy enough to become victor. And there is no truth in using your skills in the arena only, for they will not be as honed as when you use them in training before, leading to a greater chance of death. The Careers are making this mistake, and it shall lead to their deaths eventually.

Once I left the Careers behind, the evening was fortunately quiet, with no visits from bumbling, idiotic drunks or Loverboys. No need for me to listen to their tactics and restrain myself from carrying out some of my more… blood thirsty murders; it would be so quick and simple to kill them where they sat, if they think they are worthy competitors, victors or entourage, they are definitely touched in the head. A victor who turns to drink because he emerged as the victor from 48 tributes? A weak, simpering boy who has no desire to compete nor has the courage to carry out the deaths of all those who oppose him? And an entourage who chooses to hang on the every word of the drunk, and have no minds of their own? Oh, how I wish I could murder them all right here, at this moment in time. Yet the only one I actually get to murder is the Loverboy, and he won't prove much of a talent. In training today all he decided to do was paint patterns on his arm and sulk in my direction. His death is going to be glorious however, tormenting and torturing all the hope out of him until all he wants is death, and I won't grant it, letting him suffer as he runs; then I'll kill him in front of the remaining tributes and watch as they squirm and try to run. They'll be dead as well soon.

* * *

Careers, how stupid do you think I am? They believed I would turn down an official offer from Enobaria to become a Career apprentice, and train under her tonight? A once in a lifetime opportunity, and I am not going to see it go to waste on those who have no thirst for the deaths of their fellow tributes. Only Cato and Glimmer seemed unhappy over the offer issued to me. Fight for the bow and control of the Careers is on 1 and 2. You'll soon all answer to me and me alone. Puppets to do my bidding, and they won't realize it until it's too late.

It had been a surprise when Enobaria herself came to the floor demanding to talk to me; dragging me out of Floor 12 and down to her districts floor complex, she then proceeded to lay into her tributes, along a side Glimmer and Marvel, for being such failures that a female from 12 could hang about listen to their conversation without notice. A malicious smirk crept over my face as Enobaria exclaimed that it seemed she had no choice but to favour a tribute from a weaker district if this was how _successful _ her own tributes had become. And that's to say, disgracefully like tributes that would lose easily. The Careers reactions were incredibly amusing, and perfect blackmail material, though I took great joy in the reaction of Cato Hadley, the supposed leader of this pack of Careers. His face grew steadily darker, until finally he snapped. Lashing out with a sliding side kick, Cato lunged towards where I was stood, shouting at how could he be a failure when there was a tribute who had no care over weaponry and more focussed on running away like a tribute who was being hunted down like prey. I chuckled, and avoided the kick easily, sidestepping his lunge and returning my own reverse crescent kick. It made contact with his head, catching him by surprise, and he fell. Though he got back up, he was restrained by Enobaria who whispered in his ear. _Probably telling him to man up and try not to let Female 12 embarrass him, the so called Leader of the Careers._ Enobaria then approached me and offered myself the opportunity to train with her the following evening. Oh, how I would enjoy the chance to humiliate these Careers even further, and doing it in front of the highest respected tribute would be an added bonus.

Clove followed me out as I took my leave, staying just behind while I waited for the elevator. "Katniss, I have some… plans… for some of the tributes which I think you might want to hear… mass silence will be fun won't it?"


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry its been so long, but here is chapter 9 :)

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Chapter 9

"Parry, lunge… high kick, high kick…" Dancing round the training room with a sword in my hand was exhilarating, especially since this time? I actually had a decent sparring partner, whom I could also learn from. Sparring, with both weaponry and without, was the one thing I truly loved. The one thing that gave me freedom. In these moments, I held the power over my opponent, knowing I decided their fate. Only if they were worthy would I spare them. This was the first time I'd encountered a loss.

The presence of the scimitar at my neck was overwhelming, drawing me back into my memories. Once my father had become officially deceased, I vowed that I would never be in a position where I was vulnerable. I would break any upper hand my opponents had against me, I never went anywhere without my beloved knives. Fighting became a natural instinct.

"Five minutes Katniss. Appalling. A true fighter would have lasted longer." Never mind the fact I lasted twice as long as Male 2, the best fighter amongst this pack of Careers. In response, I swept her legs from under her whilst jumping up. Spinning I delivered a kick straight to the head of Female 1; Male 1 went down as he rushed to the aid of his fellow district tribute, falling after a throw over the shoulder and a finishing punch to the gut. Male 2 was the last one standing. I laughed, quietly. He truly thought he would beat me? In a split second, one of my concealed knives was flicked out and was flashing towards Male 2, followed closely by a high kick. The knife bit deeply into Male 2's shoulder, yet he seemed to snap out of his revere enough to dodge the kick… right into the path of another knife. With one knife in each of his shoulders, a natural, primal instinct took over. Throughout the whole of the duel he had been calling out malicious, if juvenile, taunts… and something inside of me wished for him to know that he was inferior… inferior to me. Smirking at his leering face, I twisted under his torso to flip him over my shoulder with the knives, digging them even further into his flesh, rich blood running over my hands and dripping onto the floor. He was unable to challenge me further.

Locking my eyes onto his, I lifted my knife hand towards my mouth, removing the blood with a long sweep of my tongue. My lips curled up into a smile, my canines coated with blood. "Sorry Cato. It seems you're not as much of a leader as you thought… you can't beat defenceless, helpless Katniss from District 12. Look at me, not one scratch… I think that is a win for me." His face turned into a murderess expression, filled with rage. Chuckling darkly, I strolled up to the so called leader of the Careers and ran a hand over his face. Leaning up to whisper in his ear, I watched as his face contorted even further. Pressing my bloody lips to his cheek, I backed away to the door, saluting Clove with my knife. After seeing one returned, I pivoted on the spot and ambled through the door without waiting to see the consequences of my actions.

"… Such a failure."

* * *

Only two more days till the arena. Only two more days until the first bloodbath. And until the day when Loverboy would be killed by my hand. Yet… maybe, just maybe, it would be more fun to watch him observe his tribute partner cut down all the poor, defenceless tributes without a care in the world except for her love of seeing the blood run out of their wounds as they bled to death. Then he would most likely realize that he was next, and try to run. Run little Loverboy, run like the coward you are. I was so caught up in my dream of killing my fellow district tribute that I didn't realize that my fingers were running through the flames of the candle lighting my room, illuminating it in blues and blacks.

Opening my eyes slowly, my sight registered the fact that it was still night, still dark… still the hours of death. The idiotic rules didn't come into play for some time yet, not until dawn. Suddenly there was a pressing need to get away, to be away from the presence of people who wished to change me, who had no wish to see blood or death. Who did not understand my joy in the very things they despised. Taking delight in the silence of the training complex, so similar to that I dreamed to happen in the arena, I walked out onto the roof to gaze over the view of the Capitol, and the night time rush. So silent, yet so much was happening. How I wished to kill the Capitol idiots, watch as their blood ran together in one stream of agony, pain… and pleasure. A fight is not a fight if only one person is injured; you can't feel the rush of adrenaline when you know you have an opponent on par with your skills… that will actually fight rather that cower away. An indomitable spirit.

A noise behind me alerted my senses to an intruder, and in a flash my knife arm was pressed up against their neck with a knife concealed in the hand, pushing their body up against the wall. Looking up, my eyes took in the features of one of the careers… the one whom had been on my thoughts more often that the rest, mainly when I was trying to figure out ways to kill him… and trying to figure out this alien emotion that crept up whenever he was around. I'd classed it as a predator instinct. Cato Hadley.

His eyebrow was raised, and a smirk was dancing on his lips, while his eyes betrayed a barely concealed hatred amongst a myriad of other emotions. Taking advantage of my momentary pause, he reversed our positions. Bored, I slung my arm round his neck before leaning back against the wall, manoeuvring the knife carefully into a different position.

"Hello Katniss." I smiled sweetly, waiting for him to make a move so I could actually have a chance to do more damage… I wondered whether his shoulders were healed yet. Shaking my head, I locked eyes with Male 2. "Hello… Failure." His grip inadvertently tightened, his arm pressed harder against my neck. He whispered almost, just almost, menacingly; "Do… not… call me that. Or you will find yourself dead within the first thirty seconds of the bloodbath. I do not want you in the Careers; it is only due to my deluded mentor and district partner that you are one. I am still your leader, and I have no care for the Alliance when it comes to you. Disobey me, and say hello to Hades."

I just laughed in his face. "Failure, just remember that I can handle weapons just as well as you, better even, and I can beat you in a spar. You're not fit to be a leader if one of your followers is better and stronger than you. I think you'll find, Failure, that it would be you greeting Death if you even attempt to kill me." Twisting under his arm, I dragged him over to the railings. Revealing the knife in my hand, I challenged him to a rematch if he so desired one. Instead, catching me unawares, he strolled towards the other end of the roof to gaze out over the Capitol, eerily similar to my previous actions not half an hour ago.

"And yet, Katniss Everdeen, I was chosen to be the leader over the thousands in the Career district. Enobaria still chooses me over anyone else; I've beaten her more times than you can count, seriously injuring her in many of those spars. You believe you are amazing and unbeatable by winning once against the Careers; do you not realize the fact that we may be toning down our abilities? Do you not realize that we have been training officially our whole lives to become the best of the best? You have no idea just who you are up against. And this will get you killed."

Pushing back off the railing, he sauntered up to where I was stood, a smirk playing on his lips, promising pain.

"Dead… by my hand, little prey."

He disappeared through the door to the training complex… narrowly missing a knife thrown at his head.

* * *

The short, impromptu meeting with the leader of the Careers left me shaken, and awoke a burning desire to see blood. Cato's blood. I may not know what he might be capable of, yet I did know one thing. He doesn't know what I am capable of, either. I know more about survival than he would ever know, and in the end, that would be the difference between which one of us would live and which would die. The survival of the fittest.

I ignored the pitiful attempts of my district's entourage at conversation, directing a hateful gaze at Loverboy when he tried to force me to turn. He flinched violently, and started to shake unnoticeably, prompting the rest of the entourage to start reprimanding my actions. Increasing my pace, I strolled nonchalantly towards the appearance of the Careers and their entourage at the entrance of the training halls, silently laughing at the look of betrayal on Loverboy's face as I embraced Clove and Glimmer before shaking hands with the Males. "Let us train then my fellow Careers."

I indicated the way with another one of my knives as I shared a sidelong glance with Clove. The malicious mirth was dancing in her eyes as it were in my own, and I observed as she mouthed one word to me while sneaking a look at Loverboy.

"Dead."


End file.
